Love What Burns
by waddles95
Summary: Ned's plan to hide Jon as his bastard runs into unexpected complications when it is discovered that Jon can control fire - an ability that, since the Doom, has only been seen in Targaryens.


**Jon**

On his seventh name day, Jon dreamt of fire. It roared and spiraled around him until his whole world was made up solely of heat and smoke. Jon knew it should have hurt, stifled and burnt him, but instead it made him feel safe and secure. It was something he had not felt in years, at least not since he began to understand just what those looks Lady Stark sent him meant. And so he laughed as he watched the flames spread, bright little fingers that reached towards the ceiling only to turn into angry, billowing clouds of black smoke when that same ceiling thwarted their escape.

While his room burned, the fire had avoided his bed. It was the only thing in the room the little flamed fingers seemed to be avoiding. Something in Jon could tell that the fire was getting angry though, and as it continued to be contained, barred from it's freedom, it turned on him. Jon knew this was no normal fire, it was enchanted and human, and now that is was denied it's escape into the world outside, it was angry. But just as the flames were about to reach his bed and fully embrace him he awoke, only to find the waking world on fire as well. As everything around him burned he no longer felt the same security his dream fire had given him. The heat that the flames provided was no longer a pleasant presence on his skin, and the smoke was making it hard for him to breathe.

"Help!" He yelled. He tried to yell it out a second time, but was caught in a retching cough before he could even finish the word. Tears formed in his eyes, but evaporated before they could track down his face, leaving a short trail of salt.

Whimpering at the extreme heat, he curled into a ball on his bed and glanced wearily as the flamed fingers flickered across his bed sheets, threatening to ignite it. _Is this how I die?_ He thought to himself.

 _All alone,_ his childish fear whispered back to him.

"Please." He whispered under his breath, his soar throat making any louder noise impossible.

It was getting harder to keep his eyes open now, with all the smoke. He realized that even if someone in Winterfell had seen the flames, it was probably too late to help him now. All efforts would go into containing the fire, and by the time the fire went out, there would be little left of him.

"Just make it stop." He whispered under his breath, giving one last plea before he closed his eyes. He did not want to see his death coming for him.

With his eyes closed, Jon imagined his room without the fire. The wardrobe that stood opposite the foot of his bed. The relatively small tapestry depicting the Stark's house sigil, a grey direwolf on a field of white. And the small desk he never really used, pushed up against the wall next to his bed. There was not much to it, but it was his, and proof that his father did want him around, despite Lady Stark wishes to see him gone.

As Jon continued to picture his room in his mind, he noticed that with each calming breath he took there seemed to be less smoke in the air. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, and cracked his left eyelid open, not daring to hope that the fire was no more. But as the room came into focus, both his eyes flew open in shock. Slowly, the fire was shrinking in on itself, containing itself to the far corner from his bed. He'd never seen fire behave this way, as if some outside force was scaring it into submission. If it weren't for the scorched floors and ruined furniture he would have assumed that this was all in his head.

But it wasn't, and as he watched the fire finally die down, a new fear came alive. A memory from a few months ago popped up into Jon's mind. Maester Luwin had been giving him and Robb a lesson on the Great Houses. The Targaryens and their downfall was a subject rarely broached in Winterfell, but during this lesson the old Maester had been unusually forthcoming about the Targaryens and their mastery of fire.

"While it is common for the other elements to run in multiple ancestral lines throughout Westeros, the element of fire was unique. The Targaryens were the only family line in Westeros to have fire magic in their blood." Maester Luwin had explained. "Many of the other ancestral lines that carried this power were wiped out in the doom of old Valyria. Even those of bastard lines who survived the Doom lost their magic, if the stores are to be believed."

"So there's no more fire benders left?" Robb had asked.

Luwin smiled down at Robb, amused that for once Robb was interested in a lesson. "I'm afraid so. They say the Valyrians abused their powers, and in their wrath, the Valyrian deities sent the Doom to take the gift they had bestowed on man back. It was only the Targaryens that they didn't punish. And when Rhaegar Targaryen was slain – "

"It is for the best." Robb had interrupted, with all of the certainty that a seven year old could muster. "Theon says that the fire the Targaryens wielded fried their brains! That's why they go crazy."

Jon had rolled his eyes at that. Robb was so gullible when it came to Theon.

"That's _stupid._ " Jon had looked to Maester Luwin, hoping he would back Jon up.

But the old Maester wasn't paying attention to them, so lost in his own thoughts. His lips had turned down into a frown, deepening the lines on his worn face, and Jon saw true sadness in his eyes. "There are rumors that those practiced in fire magic still exist across the Narrow Sea, fire-breathers and the like, but they do not compare to the control the Targaryens once held over the element. To think, a whole art lost to the world, all because of human greed."

Robb and Jon had shared an uncomfortable look then, nonverbally agreeing to set their brewing argument aside. Both boys were familiar with the circumstances that had led to the downfall of the Targaryens and thus the fire benders. Fortunately it was only a moment later that Maester Luwin snapped out of his reverie, his frown shifting back into his usual neutral expression.

"Ah, how easy it is to get off topic. We were talking about the Great Houses, weren't we?" Seeing the boys nod, he continued. "All of the Great Houses boast a long and rich history of benders in their lines. Most of the time you see one element present in a specific line, but every now and then another one will pop up, usually due to the introduction of new blood. Of course, it usually goes away as quickly as it appears…"

Maester Luwin had then gone into specifics of certain houses histories, but it was the part about the Targaryens and their fire bending powers that had stuck in Jon's mind.

Now it was confusion and panic that hit Jon as he stared at the wreckage the fire had left. The feelings started low in his stomach, but as the extent of the damage sunk in, it rose through his chest and settled into his throat, where it threatened to come out as body-wracking sobs. His mind was in even worse condition, unable to focus on anything more then that lesson with Maester Luwin. _A whole art lost._ That's what Maester Luwin had said. So how was this even possible?

A fluke? Jon's mind supplied as a simple answer. It was childish to believe, Jon knew, and yet the other option was too strange and had too many implications for Jon to wrap his mind around. Eyes still on the charred mess that used to be his writing table and chair, Jon inched his way out of bed. The floor was still warm to his feet, almost hot, hastening Jon to scurry through his room. It was when he stood outside his door in the dark corridor that he realized he had no idea who he should go to for help. He could not just leave his room like this, for anyone to discover, but he could also not clean the mess up himself while also replacing all of the furniture. His father was the most obvious choice, and really the only choice. But something in Jon shied away from approaching his father with this. What would he think? Would he be disappointed? Or worse, force Jon to leave Winterfell? If he was truly a fire bender, well, as far as Jon knew none had ever lived in the North, especially not now when all the fire benders were supposed to be dead.

With no other options available to him, Jon made his way towards his father's chambers. It was too dark to see without the aid of a candle, but Jon knew his way around this part of the castle well enough. He was just thankful that he didn't have to worry about Lady Stark being in his father's chambers tonight, due to her being very far into her fourth pregnancy, since she would just force him back to his room. He knew Robb was generally unaware of what happened most nights, but being a bastard had opened his eyes to many truths that Robb had yet to discover. Jon would freely admit that this had to do with the servants and villagers talking much more freely around Jon then they would around any of his Lord father's trueborn children.

He was only half way to Lord Stark's chambers when a flickering candle down another corridor caught his attention. At first, Jon thought he was encountering another strange fire, a small floating one in front of a larger, glistening one. But as both continued to come closer, Jon realized it was no oddity. Rather, Lady Stark holding a candle, the light emanating from it only strong enough to illuminate its immediate radius, and of course reflect off of Lady Stark's red hair. Jon vaguely remembered Robb mentioning that towards the end of her pregnancy with Arya, Lady Stark would often take late night strolls, the babe in her belly being too active to let her sleep. She had been convinced that meant the babe was a boy. Of course, she had been wrong, though Arya even at two, was much more active than Jon or Robb had ever been.

Now she was far along with her fourth child and Jon wondered if this one was giving her similar problems, and if that meant it would turn out like Arya. Thinking of the rambunctious toddler brought a brief smile to Jon's face. Brief because it was not long after that the disapproving frown on Lady Stark's face wiped his face clean of any expression.

"What are you doing wandering about the castle at this time?" Lady Stark questioned, somehow straightening her back even more, making herself even more imperious to Jon.

"I-I had a bad dream and wanted father." Jon stuttered looking down at his fingers as he nervously twisted them together.

Immediately he knew he had made a mistake, especially when Lady Stark took in a sharp breath of air. From the corner of his eye, he saw her grip tighten and not for the first time he wondered why he could not seem to do anything right when it came to her. " _Lord Stark_ is sleeping right now. You will not bother him with something so small as a bad dream." Jon bit his tongue to stop himself from mentioning how whenever Robb or Sansa had a bad dream they would wake up Lady Stark, who would often times wake up Lord Stark to help comfort the children. At least that's what Robb told him.

But Jon said nothing, choosing to nod instead. This did not appear to be reassuring enough for the Lady of Winterfell though, as she gave a very soft though obviously annoyed sigh. Jon would not have even heard it if it weren't for the dead silence of the castle at this time of night.

"I will walk you back." She said nothing else, and with one hand holding the candlestick and the other supporting her very pregnant stomach, she swiftly walked past Jon back towards the direction he had just come from. Jon, unwillingly, followed closely behind.

He had to practically run to keep up with Lady Stark's brisk pace, and Jon wished he had the courage to ask her to slow down a little. Maybe then he could catch his breath, as well as come up with an excuse for the state of his room if Lady Stark were to by chance see inside. At this point, he supposed he could only hope that she would leave before he opened the door to his room, or that she doesn't care enough to see him to bed. Theon was the one who was good at coming up with excuses, not him.

When they got closer to his door, Jon ran ahead, managing to get between the door and Lady Stark. With the door to his back, he looked up at her, making brief eye contact.

"Thank you for walking me back Lady Stark. I promise I will not disturb Lord Stark." He said hurriedly.

He was hoping that would be enough, that even if he seemed suspicious, her general dislike of him would prompt her to leave quickly. Unfortunately for him, this did not happen. Apparently, his suspicious behavior outweighed her dislike for him and she took a step forward.

"Step aside." She commanded. The hand that had been on her stomach reached towards the door handle that Jon was attempting to block.

"What? Why?" Jon managed to ask without stuttering, which was unusual for him when talking with Lady Stark.

If possible, her lips turned down even more in dislike. "You are clearly hiding something and I can only imagine what trouble you have gotten yourself into. Now step aside."

Jon thought that was unfair. If anything, it was Robb always getting into trouble. But seeing that not stepping aside would only make things worse, Jon did as she bid.

An explosive, angry yell is what Jon expected when Lady Stark entered his room, not total silence. And yet, silence was the reaction he received. Right before she had stepped in, her long gray nightgown billowing around her as if she were Jon's own personal spirit of doom, he had closed his eyes in preparation. It was because of this that he did not see Lady Stark turn white as a sheet when she fully took in the room. Nor did he see the frantic look she sent his way. It was not of disappointment or dislike, rather it was of confusion and uncertainty. No, with his eyes closed all he saw were the smiles that Robb and even little Arya reserved solely for him. The tentative grins shy and sensitive Sansa would send him when she thought he wasn't looking. The proud looks father would throw him when Maester Luwin praised Jon for being an attentive student. And he saw Winterfell, with the heart tree whose red eyes always caused shivers to run down Jon's spine.

He pictured all of this because as soon as Lady Stark saw the damage he had caused, he knew not even Lord Stark could save him from her wrath. He didn't know where he would be sent off to, but he knew he would not be allowed to stay here. This was all the proof Lady Stark needed to show everyone what she had long suspected. That no good could ever come from a bastard's presence. Especially her lord husband's bastard.

The silence dragged on though, and finally Jon could not take it any longer. Opening his eyes, he found Lady Stark giving a contemplating look to one of the larger piles of ash. Oddly enough she seemed calm. There was nothing in the way she held herself that gave the impression she was angry, giving Jon the confidence to step inside the room as well.

"Lady Stark?" He asked, grabbing her attention.

Her gaze swung to him, and he stood stalk still as she appraised him. But still she did not talk and Jon felt compelled to break the silence once again.

"I d-don't really know what happened, I swear. I just woke up to it like this. I mean, there was a fire and I thought for sure it would kill me. I couldn't yell for help because the smoke, but then the fire- it just started to shrink on itself! I don't-"

"Jon." Lady Stark interrupted. The sound of his name coming from her lips was so startling to him, that he immediately stopped his ramble from that alone. "I think it may in fact be a good idea to wake Lord Stark up after all."

Suddenly all hope that Lady Stark's continued silence had given withered away. That tone of voice, nothing good would come of it. And to wake father up, Jon's time at Winterfell was up. And as much as he hated to cry in front of anyone, especially Lady Stark, he could not keep the tears from his eyes this time. He wanted to beg, to get on his knees and convince her he was good, that he'd never mess up again. But he also knew it would be pointless. He was convinced that nothing he could do would change her mind, so he might as well keep what dignity he had left. Unfortunately, his tears did not care about dignity, and as they blurred his vision he again missed Lady Stark's expression, this time one of guilt and sympathy.

 **Catelyn**

Catelyn's thoughts were warring in her mind, all fighting for the chance to be the most prominent. Truth be told, once the wreckage that had been the child's room had processed in her mind, she had assumed the worst of him. She had been raised on the notion that bastards, being the product of an unholy union in the eyes of the seven, were prone to deceit and destructive acts. They lived in jealousy of their trueborn counterparts, and because of that they could not be trusted. But when he had described the nature of the fire, despite how incoherent the explanation was, a more probable solution presented itself in her mind.

A laugh that she was sure would have sounded hysterical almost escaped her. Her thoughts were becoming more centered around one absurd explanation. It couldn't be true – but at the same time didn't it make perfect sense? _It must have been one very special woman to make Eddard Stark forget his honor._ Where had she heard that? Or had she been the original person to think it? It was too much, she decided. The babe in her belly agreed with that thought, as it gave quite the kick. Or maybe it was just a response to her racing heart. Anger that it's once peaceful haven was suddenly disrupted.

A small whimper made her turn her attention to the room's other occupant. The boy was looking down so that his unruly raven hair covered his eyes. She had no doubt he was doing that in an effort to hide his tears. Sympathy for the boy- no, Jon – welled up inside her. If her suspicions were correct, then of course he was terrified. He had no way of understanding what was happening to him. Given her past behavior towards Jon, he most likely thought she was getting ready to demand his immediate removal from Winterfell.

"Jon, look at me."

It took him a moment, but he eventually looked up, tear filled eyes making contact with her own clear blue ones.

"I am not mad at you." She tried to imagine this was Robb crying in front of her, to imagine that she was comforting him. She needed Jon to be much calmer when she confronted Ned. The usual brisk manner she used with her husband's supposed bastard would not do in this case. "I promise."

She realized that if this were Robb crying in front of her, she would embrace him. It was awkward for her to get down on her knee, and when she moved to embrace the child, he flinched away. Suspicion clouded his eyes and his body language screamed I don't believe you. _At least he's not crying anymore,_ she thought.

"I can tell that you did not mean for this to happen. I can also tell that you are very confused about what occurred here. Am I right?" She asked, hoping to coax a verbal response from him.

He did not give a verbal response, but he did nod, and so she continued.

"I think that Lord Stark might have the answers that both of us seek, and that is why I want to take you to him. I promise, you are not in trouble."

Surprise flickered across those black eyes of his, and she finally got a real response. "If I'm not in trouble, then I'll be able to stay here at Winterfell right? You won't make me leave?"

Catelyn hesitated before answering. She could not be sure what the outcome of this night would be. She wasn't even sure of her own feelings on the whole matter. It was clear Jon was not who Ned had led her to believe he was, but that did not mean he was any less dangerous then what she had always suspected. If anything, this made him more dangerous. And as sorry as she was starting to feel for the boy, she had her own children to think about.

Seeing her hesitation, Jon began to shake his head violently. "N-no. You said I'm not in trouble. You promised!" He yelled in anger.

Had he been any other seven year old, his temper would have been a mild annoyance, but alas he was not. Catelyn gave a startled cry and almost fell backwards as a thin wall of fire spread out on the floor between her and Jon. It was known that a bender's power was keyed into their emotions. Therefore strong emotions in an untrained firebender could often have deadly consequences. If rumors were to be believed, this was only a little demonstration of what a firebender was truly capable of. Fully trained firebenders were known to have caused much worse damage. Catelyn knew she needed to act quickly.

Jon was staring at the wall of fire that had formed between them in disbelief. She tried talking to him once again, worried that it would soon grow out of control.

"Jon," She said in the most soothing voice she could manage. She could see the clear signs of distress on the boy. "Do you remember how you put out the fire before? Can you do that again?"

Instead of replying, Jon closed his eyes. Taking deep breaths, he furrowed his brows. The deep look of concentration was almost comical on a face so young, but Catelyn wouldn't think on that now. She turned her attention to the rapidly disappearing fire, allowing herself to be briefly amazed at the display of fire bending. After all, this was a sight many thought would never be observed again. And also proof that he indeed was a fire bender. There could be no doubt now, no way for Ned to deny anything now that she had seen it with her own eyes.

Timidly she reached for Jon's hand. At her touch, his eyes flew open, eyes that were distrustful yet resigned. "Let us go."

With his hand held tightly in her own, she led him back the way they had just come. Before leaving the room she grabbed the previously forgotten about candle as an afterthought, though now as she entered a darker part of the castle she was thankful. Even after living here for almost eight years, the castle was still largely unfamiliar to her. How hard she had tried to make this place her home. When she had first come to Winterfell, she had hardly allowed herself to think of Riverrun, knowing she would only become sick for a place that was no longer her home. But Winterfell was so _gray._ The castle, the sky, the land, even the people. When winter had given way to spring, surely, she thought, the gray would melt along with the snow. But the snow lingered, and the gray even more so. Even the walls, deceptively warm due to the hot spring water that was piped through them, could do little to warm her heart to this hard land. It was only through her children that she could come to consider this place a home, though still a second one when compared to Riverrun.

She snapped out of her musings as she came to the door that guarded her husband's chambers. At the sound of approaching footsteps the guard posted there had straightened to attention. When he recognized the two approaching figures, he fidgeted in discomfort. Many in the castle liked the little bastard boy, and felt bad for him.

"Lady Stark. Jon." He greeted.

"Harwin," Catelyn gave a curt nod, thankful she remembered this guards name. "Please let Ned know we are here to see him. It is urgent."

"Right away, m' Lady." He gave two short rasps to the great wooden door, waited a few minutes, and then gave two more. Following the fourth knock, Ned gave a short shout.

"Lady Stark and Jon bid entry, m' Lord."

There was a short pause before her husband allowed their entry. Catelyn knew that he was thinking the worst, and was probably wishing he could push this off until morning. He also knew Catelyn though, and must have realized that she wouldn't wake him like this for no good reason.

With a nod of appreciation to Harwin, she pushed Jon in front of her, partly to reassure him and partly to force him to enter the room. He was stiff but still complied.

Inside, a sleep tussled Ned was sitting on his bed, weary yet alert. His hair was disheveled, and he must have quickly dressed for Catelyn knew he usually slept naked. As the door shut behind them, his eyes immediately went to Jon, and after deducing that physically he was fine, his gaze shifted to Catelyn bidding her to speak.

"Jon, tell your father about what happened to your room. Do not leave out any details."

She winced as her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, and Jon let out a soft sob before running to his father and burying his face into his legs.

Ned started patting him on the back, whispering soft reassurances. He was about to say something to Catelyn, but Jon started explaining tonight's events, his voice muffled by the fabric of Ned's pants. They both listened with rapt attention as he told the whole story, thankfully this time avoiding any long rambles. Catelyn was getting a much better idea of what had triggered the boy, and what might be done to avoid such instances in the future.

By the time Jon finished his story, the tears had once again dried from his eyes and instead he was looking up at his father imploringly.

"What does this mean, father?" He asked, for once sounding his age.

"Please Ned, tell me it's not what I'm thinking. Tell me you haven't been lying to me." Catelyn added. Jon looked between her and his father confused.

"Father?" Jon asked once again, this time prodding him.

But for the first time tonight, Ned's attention was solely on Catelyn, and she knew, beyond a doubt that all of her suspicions were true. There was only guilt in those _gray_ eyes. They pleaded with her to understand, to forgive. She could practically hear the thoughts that were bound to be echoing in his mind. _I did it to protect him. To protect you, and our children. Please, you know what Robert, what those Lannisters would have done. Please, he's my blood._ She gave a bitter laugh.

"I always thought you must have loved his mother dearly, more than anything, to have forgotten your honor. I never guessed though, how right I was." She felt hot, angry tears come to her eyes, and brushed them away. "Lyanna Stark, everything goes back to her. You have forsaken the vow you swore to me on our wedding night. And for what? Some dead whore?" She spat, wanting to hurt Ned as much as he hurt her.

"Lyanna Stark? I-I don't understand. Father, please tell me what's going on!" Jon pleaded. Still, Ned Stark did not respond.

Anger and betrayal clouded her judgment, and because Ned wasn't reacting, she turned to Jon, knowing the boy would get him to react. "He's not your father!" She yelled at him, wanting him to hurt too. Wanting someone else to be just as affected by Ned's actions.

Jon gasped, but she still kept eye contact with Ned. She had to know for sure. "Rhaegar Targaryen is."

Ned could have screamed from the top of his lungs, but the answer would still be louder in his eyes. He had never been good about hiding his emotions and while that once might have made her despair, now she was glad for it. She knew if she looked at Jon she would feel guilt, so she didn't look at him before turning around.

"Good night, my lord." She said stiffly, and then walked out the door. Harwin closed it behind her. She realized vaguely that he must have heard everything, but was too drained to care. Her hand moved to clutch at her stomach, fearing for the babe inside's future, and she made her way to her own chambers. She would deal with the fallout tomorrow, but for now she would sleep. If not for her own good, then for her child's sake.


End file.
